In the hall Odysseus stood with his beloved bow in his hand. Carefully he tested it lest harm had befallen it in his absence. Then taking an arrow from the quiver he placed it on the bow and drew the string, and lo! it sped to its mark and reached the wall beyond.
At once Telemachus, his sharp sword in his hand, sprang to his father’s side, while Eumaeus, to whom the beggar’s secret had been told, followed him fast.
The suitors leaped to their feet in dismay as the arrows of Odysseus fell swiftly among them. Then they turned to the walls to seek the arms which usually hung there, but Telemachus had carried them away.
Not until the proud suitors were slain did Odysseus cease to bend his mighty bow. But at length all was over and none were left to mock at the stranger.
Then Odysseus bade Eurycleia go tell Penelope that her lord had returned and awaited her in the hall.
The queen lay on her bed fast asleep when the old nurse broke into her room, and, all tremulous with joy, told her that Odysseus had come and slain the suitors. Too good were the tidings for Penelope to believe.
‘Dear nurse,’ she cried, ‘be not so foolish. Why dost thou mock my sorrow? It may be that one of the gods hath slain the suitors, but Odysseus himself hath perished in a strange land.’
‘Nay, I mock thee not, dear child,’ answered Eurycleia. ‘The stranger with whom thou didst talk yesterday is Odysseus.’
Yet Penelope could not believe that her lord had returned. She spoke sadly to the old nurse, telling her that she was deceived and did not understand the ways of the gods. ‘None the less,’ she added, ‘let us go to my child, that I may see the suitors dead, and him that slew them.’
Down in the hall Odysseus, clothed no longer in rags, but in bright apparel, awaited his wife.